ISBN-10:
1442427167
ISBN-13:
9781442427167
Pub. Date:
Publisher:
Then You Were Gone

Then You Were Gone

by Lauren Strasnick

Paperback(Reprint)

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Overview

In the tradition of 13 Reasons Why, a suspenseful and heart-wrenching novel from the author of Nothing Like You and Her and Me and You.

Two years ago, Adrienne’s best friend walked out of her life. One week ago, she left Adrienne a desperate, muffled voicemail. Adrienne never called back.

Now Dakota is missing. She left behind a string of broken hearts, a flurry of rumors, and a suicide note.

Adrienne can’t stop obsessing over what might have happened if she’d answered Dakota’s call. And she’s increasingly convinced that Dakota must still be alive.

Maybe finding and saving Dakota is the only way Adrienne can save herself.

Or maybe it’s too late for them both.


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781442427167
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers
Publication date: 01/07/2014
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 272
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.80(d)
Lexile: HL390L (what's this?)
Age Range: 14 - 17 Years

About the Author

Lauren Strasnick grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut, now lives in Los Angeles, California, and is a graduate of Emerson College and the California Institute of the Arts MFA Writing Program. She wrote her first short story, “Yours Truly, The Girls from Bunk Six,” in a cloth-bound 5x4 journal, in the fifth grade. She is the author of Then You Were Gone, Nothing Like You, and Her and Me and You. Find out more at LaurenStrasnick.com, and follow her on Twitter at @LaurenStrasnick.

Read an Excerpt

Then You Were Gone
Dakota Webb.

Boys love her. Freak freshman girls worship her. She’s pretty and bitchy and her dark dresses always look perfectly rumpled, as if she’s slipped them on fresh from the cleaners, then rolled around in the barn for a bit.

“Adrienne?”

She wasn’t always this way: shiny and cool. A baby rock god. A high school deity. She used to be just plain Dakota. Fickle, sure. A little wicked. But still, just a girl, my friend.

Right now it’s seventy and sunny. I’m on my back in a plot of curly weeds. I’ve got my hot cell pressed to my ear and here’s what I hear: my name, her voice, muffled, off-beat breathing. Squeaky noises that ride the line between giggles and sobs. I replay the message. Then again, twice more. I’ve heard this thing sixty times since Saturday, when I first saw her name pop up on my caller ID screen.

“Adrienne, it’s me. Remember? Call back, please?”

I haven’t. I’ve done the opposite. I’ve ignored her call all week.

I flip my phone shut. She’s been MIA since the weekend: three successive school absences and an unsubstantiated rumor that she hasn’t been home since late Sunday night. Should I be worried? Guilty?

I dial back. Four days late. I bite my tongue so hard I taste tin.

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